


untitled (blaine's history with therapy)

by multicorn



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:39:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multicorn/pseuds/multicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine talks to Emma.  Set (and goes AU) after Glease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled (blaine's history with therapy)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: allusion to canon gay bashing, depression, and ambiguously to self-harm

Sam finds him in the locker room, punching a bag with unwrapped hands that are bruised and knuckles beginning to bleed.  “Are you okay?” he asks, and the question is so incongruous that Blaine’s unable to answer for a minute, letting the laughter wash over his body like an explosion.  Sam just stands there waiting.  
  
”Do I look okay,” Blaine eventually says, straightening up and holding out his battered hands for inspection.  
  
“I didn’t just mean your hands, dude,” and Blaine wants to hate him for the softness in his voice, now, where was he been all this time - oh, that’s right, too busy chasing after Brittany now that her girlfriend’s gone away, nevermind.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says abruptly, and turns away to look for his stuff.  
  
“Because you haven’t seemed fine,” Sam continues.  
  
And Blaine says, “why do you care?”  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, Miss Pillsbury calls him into her office.  “Sam told that you might be in need of a little guidance,” she says.  “So if you could take a seat?”  
  
He drops into the chair in front of her desk sullenly.  Remembers the last time he was sitting here, remembers Kurt saying  _you won’t lose me,_  and look how that turned out.  “I don’t have anything to say.”  
  
“That’s okay, not everyone does.  But why don’t you just sit here with me, for a little while, you can work on your homework or whatever, and if at any point you feel like talking, I’ll be ready to listen.”  
  
~*~  
  
Blaine’s already missed the end of one class and the start of a second one, but that’s okay because as long as he’s here his absences are excused.  And he’s scrolling through his ipod, thinking about playlists, even though they’re easier to put together on the computer.  He’s startled when Miss Pillsbury’s voice suddenly cuts into his thoughts.  
  
“I did something like this the first time I went to my therapist,” she says.  
  
He blinks; he knows some of the other kids call her crazy, but she’s always seemed so well-adjusted to him.  “You have a therapist?”  
  
“Yeah, for my OCD.  I spent the whole first session cleaning of the chair I was supposed to sit on, actually.”  She shrugs.  “But I did start to talk to her, eventually.  And I think that it’s helped me.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“You know, if you’re interested in that, I have the contact information for some people in here,” she says, and starts digging for papers in her desk drawers.  
  
She’s not looking at him, which makes it easier to say, “I had a therapist before too.”  
  
She puts the papers down, and looks back up.  “How did that go?”  
  
“It was after I came out to my parents,” he says.  “It wasn’t an ex-gay thing, nothing like that.  But I was being taunted, every day at school, and it made me kind of… upset.”  And he couldn’t yell at school, and so he’d yell at home sometimes instead, taking everything out on the wrong people, and he can admit that now, but still everything stings.  “My parents just wanted me to be happier.  But it turns out that therapy can’t really do that, when you’re unhappy because assholes are making your life a living hell.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
And she doesn’t know what do to with it, of course, nobody does.  This is why he doesn’t try to tell people things.  
  
“So what happened?  Did you just get tired of going and give up?”  
  
“When I’d been seeing him for a few months…” his face tightens, but it gets easier to tell this story every time.  “I went to a dance with another boy, and three guys from our school beat us up.”  He looks up, and she’s just sitting there, watching, eyes so wet and wide….  “I finally convinced him that I really was okay inside, even if I was banged up all around.  Or maybe he just felt bad about fighting with me after that.  I’m still not sure.”


End file.
